Skeeter slides in next to me, watching the crowd on the dance floor. He nudges me with his elbow. “I don’t see Sonia’s date.”
I shake my head at him. “Skeeter, she broke up with that accountant months ago.”
He starts. “She did?”
“She mentioned it at lunch when it happened. You might have been on your phone.”
“I never liked him. He didn’t like football. I tried to talk to him at the last party, but it was like talking to a calculator.”
“Ask her to dance.”
“Why does she talk British? Is that weird?”
I chuckle. “She’s quirky. Embrace it.”
He squints, lasering in on Sonia. “I’m just a country boy. I like fried chicken and mashed potatoes on Sunday, shooting guns, and fishing. She likes science and lice.” He tosses back his glass, draining it. “I need to be drunk to dance.”
I grab another stem of champagne from a tray passing by. “Have another, then.”
He takes it, his forehead furrowed as he munches on a shrimp. “I’m a jock, and she’s smart. I live with my mama. My last girlfriend broke up with me and got married a month later. I didn’t even know she’d been seeing that cowboy and me!”
“Stop talking yourself out of it. Win the heart, win everything,” I tell him.
Midbite of his next shrimp, he shoots me a surprised look. “That’s only for football, Coach.”
“Is it?”
Before he can reply, Melinda’s father juts in, nodding at me and Melinda. “You two are young and spry. Get out there and dance.”
“Yes,” Melinda coos and leans in, her perfume heavy and thick.
“Go on; enjoy the party,” her dad insists as he slaps me on the back. “Does that leg injury keep you from dancing?”
“No.”
His buddies smile at me, nodding.
I exhale noisily. To refuse now would be rude to the Texans. And Nova’s avoiding me, so . . .
“All right.” I set down my plate, then lead her out to the floor, a few feet away from Nova and Sonia.
Nova looks at me, then does a spin in her dress, the fabric billowing around her long tanned legs. She grabs Sonia’s hand, and they move to the other side of the floor.
My gut churns as my eyes follow her. Oh, she sat next to me in the lounge this week, pretending, but there was a difference. My chest panged for her unreserved smiles, the way she’d brushed her lips over my scars.
“Electric Boogie,” by Marcia Griffiths, blares from the speakers, and several people rush out to do the Electric Slide. My jaw clenches when I see Andrew joining Nova for the line dance.
I tear my gaze off her. Once I leave Blue Belle, I want to do it with a clear heart, and that means no serious relationships.
Another girl joins us on the floor, sliding in next to Melinda, then another, then another, until I’m encircled by young women. Another song comes on. I should leave and go back to the table, but I also want to see what Nova is doing. In other words, I’m losing my mind.
The guitar-focused song “Say You Won’t Let Go” hits the speakers, and I jerk to a stop, remembering the Pythons party.
“Dance with me,” Melinda says, her hands sliding up my jacket.
“Melinda, catch a clue. I danced to be polite. You and I are never going to happen. It’s Nova, and this song belongs to her.”
She gapes at me as I turn around, maneuvering through the crowd.
Andrew’s hand rests on Nova’s shoulder as he grabs her another glass of champagne off a tray. He leans down to whisper something in her ear. With their backs to me, I acknowledge the crazy mix of emotions boiling in my chest—part possessiveness, the other side something I can’t put my finger on. Maybe rage. She spent years with him. She fucking loved him. Maybe she still does.
“Excuse me; it’s our song, babe,” I say gruffly, then turn her around.
She smiles up at me, her eyes unusually bright. “Darling! Andrew was just telling me about his vacation home at the beach in Galveston. He wants to know if we’d like to visit—”
“I prefer the Pacific Ocean. Bye, Andrew.” Using my shoulders, I push him away with a slight bump, then lead her out to the dance floor.
She exhales. “Rude.”
“Don’t care.” My hands encircle her waist. “You seem to be having a good time.”
She twines her arms around my neck as her throat bobs. She looks away. “Right back at you.”
“You left me, Princess,” I grind out.